The Billionaire's Revenge She Returned to Destroy Him

"Amelia is the apple of my eye. A parasite like you, who only knows how to spend money, isn't even fit to carry her shoes."

Amelia buried her face in her hands, tears brimming—but behind that fragile mask, malice flickered.

"Henry, don't fight with my sister," she whimpered. "She's just jealous of me..."

I ignored the drama queens and slammed the freshly reprinted divorce agreement onto the table.

"Sign."

Henry froze. The sheer coldness in my voice seemed to unsettle him. The Anna standing before him—spine steel-straight, eyes devoid of warmth—was a stranger compared to the timid woman he was used to bullying.

Not wanting to lose face in front of Amelia, he snatched the pen and slashed his signature across the bottom line.

"Get lost!"

He hurled the document back at me.

I picked it up, scanned it to ensure every legal requirement was met, then slipped the deed to the West City wasteland into my bag.

I turned and walked away without a shred of lingering attachment.

At the entryway, I paused.

Slowly, I turned back to the wedding photo hanging on the wall.

In the picture, the old me smiled humbly, desperate to please, while Henry wore cold indifference. A monument to my stupidity.

I walked over and tore it down.

Riiip.

The sound was satisfying. The photo split cleanly down the middle.

I crumpled Henry's half into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket.

"Trash belongs in the trash can."

Henry's face turned livid purple. He pointed a shaking finger at me, speechless with rage.

Ellie Finch, my mother-in-law, heard the commotion and rushed downstairs. The instant she took in the scene, she jabbed a finger toward my nose and shrieked.

"Anna Pruitt! You absolute jinx! How dare you tear that photo?"

Her voice climbed an octave. "Once you walk out that door, don't think about coming back! You will never set foot in the Sanchez family grave!"

I looked at the nasty old woman with cool detachment.

In my previous life, she had made my existence hell. To "save money" for the wealthy Sanchez dynasty, she'd forced me to eat scraps. When I fell ill, she refused to let me see a doctor.

The Sanchezes weren't short on money. Ellie just enjoyed grinding me into the dust.

I smoothed my collar and offered her a faint, pitying smile.

"Mom, you really don't need to worry."

I glanced around the opulent, suffocating villa. "Your family grave has terrible feng shui. It only seems to produce heartless, disloyal men."

I met her gaze. "I'm afraid entering it would shorten my life. Save that honor for Amelia."

Ellie gasped, clutching her chest, eyes rolling back. She looked ready to faint from sheer indignation.

Amelia rushed to support her while pulling out her phone. I watched her thumbs fly across the screen.

A moment later, my phone pinged.

Amelia had posted a selfie featuring her tear-stained face—the side I'd slapped—with the caption:

Finally cleared out the trash. Even though I got hurt, for Henry, it was worth it.

The comments were already flooding with praise for her and vicious insults aimed at me.

I wasn't angry. If anything, I found it amusing.

Walking out of the Sanchez villa gates, the air tasted different. Cleaner. Like freedom.

I cast one last look at the luxurious cage that had suffocated me for so long.

Henry Sanchez, Amelia Harding—your good days are over.

As I raised my hand to hail a cab, a news alert popped up.

A trending topic, undoubtedly bought by Amelia: Wealthy Dynasty's Cast-Off Wife Exits in Misery, Leaving with Nothing to Atone for Her Sins.

The image was a candid shot of me dragging my suitcase, back turned to look desolate.

The comments were a cesspool of strangers calling me shameless for clinging to a man who didn't want me.

I locked the screen and flagged down a taxi.

"Take me to the best hotel in Harbor City."

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror—my simple clothes, the singular suitcase.

"Miss, that place is expensive. Tens of thousands a night."

I fished out a sleek black card.

This wasn't Sanchez money. This was the war chest I'd built through private investments—assets Henry knew nothing about.

"It's fine," I said. "I have money."

And very soon, I thought, watching the city blur past, I'll have a hell of a lot more.